Dark Side of the Moon
by DontShatterMe
Summary: AU where Bobby has a god daughter, Esmae, that he has to take care of throughout the series. Esmae doesn't particularly like Sam and Dean and she happens to see them as leeches. But what happens when Dean finally quits picking on her and realizes he's had feelings for her since they were kids? How can he convince her that he's not gonna use her?


**Chapter 1**

There's a lot to be said for people in low places. And that's exactly where Esmae found herself this morning, in the lowest place of her life thus far. She woke up sprawled out on the floor of a seedy motel that she didn't remember paying for. She had no idea where her clothes were, and there was this horrible stench of sulfur in the room. She lifted her legs to stand and felt sore…everywhere. She didn't remember leaving with anyone from the bar last night. It felt like she'd gotten into a fist fight with a wrecking ball. Her arms felt heavy, her legs were asleep, and she could taste remnants of last night's drinking on the back of her tongue. She felt like she hadn't had water in months. She could smell her own body odor. She was in dire need of a shower and some mouth wash.

To be completely honest, this wasn't the first time she'd woken up in a place she didn't remember. She'd had a bit of a drinking problem as of late. It was, however, the first time she'd woken up without any clothing in sight. Any other time, her clothing had been found thrown all over the floor hap hazardously. This time, they weren't even in the room. She glanced in the tiny bathroom and found a robe to step outside and find clothing in her car. Perks of living in your car; you don't have to worry about not having clothes with you. So, she stepped outside and saw her car parked right in front of the door, keys still in the ignition. She rummaged around the back seat and found clothing that would be appropriate for this warm weather then grabbed her toiletries. She walked back briskly, feeling her thighs chafing in the heat. The door slammed behind her, the cool air conditioning hitting her face.

Finally, with her clothing situation sorted out, she glanced around the room and realized that not even the bed had been used. There was nothing in this room that belonged to her. She walked to the bathroom, threw open the door, and walked in. She set her clothes down, turned the hot water knob on, and let the water run. Before long, the bathroom was filled with steam. She could barely see her face in the mirror over the sink through the fog. What she could see of it looked ragged and pastiness. The paleness of her face just made her green eyes pierce through the fog in her reflection. Her hair was a mess, the blond curls matted up and stringy. Her favorite necklace shined a bright gold nestled in between her breasts. There was horrible lighting in this bathroom, but that didn't matter. The necklace always shone. It seemed to be the thing that kept her alive more than she'd care to admit.

She jumped into the shower, bathed, washed her hair, and scrubbed her face. She stepped out feeling far better than when she'd woken up. A warm shower can sooth the soul. She dressed in the shorts and tank top she had grabbed from her car after putting on the white cotton bra and panties. She opened the door leading from the bathroom to the main area of the motel room and walked out.

Throwing the robe onto the bed, she stepped out and closed the door to the motel room.

Number **666**.

Ironic.

She'd been driving for over 6 hours before she saw the sign headed into Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Finally, familiar grounds. The song playing full blast was her anthem: Highway to Hell by ACDC. Anytime she got the chance to hear it, she turned the volume all the way up and screamed the lyrics. Another five minutes' drive and she was pulling into her godfather's car lot. Singer Salvage Yard. A place she's called home far more often than she would like to admit. Since her parents were brutally murdered when she was 13, this is the only place she's had that's been steady and stable. Bobby had been her shoulder to cry on since she could remember; a constant in her life of chaos. She could always count on him to cheer her up when she couldn't feel happy.

The only thing she couldn't handle about being over here was those stupid Winchester brothers. They always came running when they needed help, and they're all Bobby ever talked about. Some hunters they were, they couldn't even hold their own in a fight against a Jinn. They couldn't work together, but god forbid they be separated. Sure, they can stop the apocalypse, but they're also the ones who start it. They die, by some miracle they get brought back.

She has never had a problem with Sam per se, but Dean? Oh boy, did they butt heads. It was never ending. He'd say something smart assed anytime she spoke, she'd jump back with something about his bowed legs. They always fought. Sam learned the hard way that he should probably just keep his distance when they started arguing. Bobby would usually just push them outside to let them finish their fighting. Her biggest problem with Dean was that he didn't know when to draw the line. He was constantly downing her about her appearance; about her weight, most specifically. As if she didn't already have enough self esteem problems. It's all she thought about most days. She wasn't good enough for anything.

She didn't see the Impala when she pulled up, so she figured it was safe to go inside. The smell when she stepped out reminded her of childhood summers spent helping Bobby with his cars. It smelled of nothing but gravel and mechanics. It was a smell that calmed her nerves.

The pathway to the front door was red brick, the stones a little uneven but perfectly flawed. She had memorized the dips and rises of the stones. The door was unlocked, so she walked right in. Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through one of the books off of his many bookshelves. He glanced up and grinned at her.

"Long time no see, Esmae. What brings you back this time?"

"Funny thing. I woke up this morning on the floor of a motel room that I don't remember, the only smell in the room was sulfur, I couldn't find my clothes, and funny enough, the room number was 666. You tell me what's going on here."

"Sounds like you had too much fun at a bar last night, and that ex of yours found his way to you."

"Noooooo, I would know if Crowley had been there at the bar last night. He's been sending his demons to check up on me, but I don't think even he would stoop that low. He's got a little respect at least."

"Well, you know where all the books are. Read up on it if you need to. I just made coffee. It's in there if you want some."

"Alright then. Thing 1 and Thing 2 not here today?" she asked, grabbing a coffee mug out of the cabinet to the right of the sink.

"Not today. They're out hunting a vamp nest in Limestone, Illinois. Haven't heard much from them since they left. Starting to get a little worried. Why?"

"Well, you know I don't like being around Dean, and I was just making sure I wouldn't end up running into him at any point today. I'm not exactly in the mood to argue endlessly today."

Assuming that was the end of their conversation, she poured the coffee into her mug, loaded it with sugar and creamer, and stepped into the living room. It was a sight she'd never get tired of. The mismatched upholstery of the chairs and couches, some blue and some green with red plaid. It smelled exactly how it smelled outside with a pinch of coffee. She sat on the couch, admiring the bookshelves. Not only were there lore and nonfiction books, but there were mysteries on these shelves that she spent her childhood delving into. She'd always dreamt of being an FBI agent, but she could never bring herself to sign up for the courses. It's not that she didn't think she'd make it through them, but her weight had been something she struggled with lately.

It hadn't gotten bad until she'd gotten the guts to leave Crowley. She'd loved him, but the relationship had been taking a toll on her mental health. Afterwards, she'd begun eating her feelings away. The pounds just piled on after that. She wasn't exactly unhealthy in her weight; she had a lot of muscle, she just had a bit of jiggle around her middle as well. So, no, she wasn't confident in herself. She wasn't confident in herself about anything aside from fighting, honestly.

She could kill a man with a couple of words, a demon just as easily. The things she knew weren't common knowledge. When she was born, her mother got a storage unit to be turned over to her when she turned 18, or when she lost both of her parents, whichever came first. When she was 13, at her parent's funeral, Bobby handed her a key with an address and number attached.

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 **A/N: Hey y'all, this is my first time writing, so bear with me. I know where I'd like to take this, I just need a little support. Y'all make sure to review it and tell me what y'all think of it. Thanks.**


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